


ich schorm

by saernamaz



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Based on a True Story, Jewish Character, LGBTQ Jewish Character(s), LGBTQ Themes, M/M, my grandparents' history to be precise lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 14:24:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18758230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saernamaz/pseuds/saernamaz
Summary: for paratroopers, bruises and strains were not unusual, between jumping of planes and climbing up trees. webster knew all about these. his mother always told him he was too fragile for the army, and maybe he should have listened. now he was stuck in a bed, with a strained ankle.without a professionnal doctor on site, the army calls upon a jewish man from the village to heal webster. between oils and prayers, webster finds love.





	ich schorm

**Author's Note:**

> it's entirely based on how my grandparents met, minus maybe web and lieb's attitudes and some details. paratroopers of the small city next to our village would come when hurt to get 'schorm' by the jewish community, something that was only done in our village. my grandpa was a paratrooper and met my grandma when he accompanied another soldier to the village to get healed. 
> 
> the fic takes place in france, in the 70s, to avoid all confusion.

being a paratrooper was hard. trainings were exhausting, tough. here even more, perhaps. his regiment focused on intelligence gathering. they were trained to hide for days, sometime without eating, to push their limits in different settings, to be as stealthy as a cat.

bruises and strains were not unusual, between jumping of planes and climbing up trees, it’s as if the lieutenants were planning their deaths before they actually went on the field.

webster knew all about these. his mother always told him he was too fragile for the army, and maybe he should have listened. now he was stuck in a bed, with a strained ankle. he could not move, and the fact that he was alone in the cramped room did not help. his friends sometimes came, but they never stayed long, and the atmosphere was just awkward with nurses sitting on nearby beds, chatting.

he spent most of his days reading the books his parents had sent him, or his army friends lent him. luz once jokingly sent him an olympe magazine, and it would have been funny, if webster hadn’t been interested in the pictures, and if his lieutenant did not walk in on him _reading_ it. luz jeered at him about it for at least a week. thankfully, lt. winters was a nice man and did not say anything about it when he visited webster the other times.

sometimes, the nurses would check on him too, and play cards with him. they were as bored as him, most of the time. not many men came around, and webster did not exactly require that much attention, it was more of a wait-and-see situation. they played poker, russian and american card games inherited from world war two.

***

‘so, is he going to be here long?’, his staff sergeant martin asked the main nurse as he entered the room.

‘well, it’s pretty bad, and we are limited in supplies and doctors.’ martin clicked his tongue. this man was always annoyed, or so it seemed to webster.

‘are there any available nearby doctors? goddammit, doctors budget cuts, what year is it, 1929?’ a young nurse chuckled, and webster almost laughed too. martin did not even blink in her direction as he would have with webster. _women privilege_ , webster thought, _or maybe he just hates you_.

‘well, i heard of a good… doctor. he’s good with strains. he’s famous around here, he’s said to cure anything in the blink of an eye. he’s… mystical.’ martin paused for a minute, seemingly to think.

‘whatever. can you bring him here?’

‘sure. emily, go fetch shlomo.’ a young nurse nodded and kissed her friends goodbye as she left the station for the village. martin looked at webster and nodded his head once as a salute before leaving the infirmary. and just like that, he was alone and bored again.

***

emily came back an hour later with three people, two men and a woman. the woman smiled brightly at the nurses on the bed, who all discreetly blushed at such a radiant greeting. or maybe they blushed at how gorgeous she was, with neatly groomed short brown hair, healthy round cheeks which were the symbols of her youth and delicate hourglass figure. she seemed to belong in a city, not in the country side. she was gentle in her very moves and seemed well educated.

next to her, a man snickered and elbowed her. his lips were twitched in a taunting smile. he looked like he was about to say a chaff, but the older man next to him silenced him with a touch on the shoulder. when he displayed a neutral smile, webster noted that he looked less angular and more like the girl standing next to him, although he looked more _used_ than her. where she looked almost like a lady, he looked like a titi parisien, cheeky and bright.

the older man slowly approached him and looked at his ankle. he caressed his – impressive – grey moustache, a thoughtful look in his eyes. the two others watched him carefully, studying the way the old man’s fingers brushed his moustache, as if they could decipher what he was thinking about.

‘mmh, _ye_. this calls for a _schormer_. rachel would you be a kind young girl and get me my oils? they’re in the car.’ the young woman smiled and nodded, as she left the room. the young man watched her go, and finally went towards the bed. the old man put a firm hand on his shoulder and turned to webster.

‘my name is shlomo. this is my grandson, joseph, and his sister rachel. this is one hell of a strain you got here my young friend. joseph is going to heal you in an instant, we just need some essential oils and special water. do you know what a _schormer_ is?’

‘no, sir, i don’t.’ although, to be honest, webster would have killed to know what it was. he remembered the word ‘mystical’ as soon as the old man mentioned oils and now, he was both intrigued and perhaps a bit apprehensive.

‘it’s a jewish exorcism.’, joseph answered with a smirk. ‘we’re going to ban all the demons that wage war in your body, with help of the prophets.’

webster looked at the younger man quizzically, silently asking him if what he said was true. joseph looked at him, a hint of mystery in his eyes. webster felt captured by his eyes. he may not have had an answer to his silent question, but he felt like it was true. the man winked at him, as if to confirm his conclusion. webster felt heat rising to his cheeks and he promptly avoided the other’s intense gaze.

rachel came to his rescue at this moment, bringing with her a small bag and a basin of water. she put in a nearby table and stood beside her grandfather. joseph drift his attention to the ‘medical equipment’. he approached the small table and took some oils to put in the water.

‘what scents would you prefer? vanilla, cinnamon? perhaps _achillea_?’ joseph eyed him as he said achillea and webster almost let out a nervous laugh. he knew achilleas were traditional symbol of male love. he read it in olympe. in this instant, he wondered if he was flirting, or if he really was some kind of psychic who knew everything.

‘vanilla, please.’

joseph continued to mix oils together. it smelled good. it was almost intoxicating. he plunged his hands in the scented water and sat on the bed, next to webster’s strained ankle. he gently put his hands on his ankle and began to massage the inflammation gently. as he did so, he whispered something, that webster couldn’t quite hear. it was chanting and was not in french was all web could make out of it. next to him, shlomo and rachel were covering their eyes, praying with joseph. webster immersed himself in the show, watching as the three protagonists’ lips moved in rhythm and relaxing under joseph’s touches. after a few minutes, they stopped.

‘there you are. you should be good to go in a few days, a week at most.’

‘thank you. so, it was really an exorcism?’

the three chuckled and the old man stood up. rachel helped him on his feet and waved the nurses goodbye as the two made their away out of the infirmary. joseph stayed on the bed, watching webster.

‘sure thing it was. and beshem elohe yisroel you’re healed. but truth is, the oils helped. surely a man of your education noticed it.’

‘of my education?’

‘yeah. i mean, who other than y’all bourgeois read les misérables for fun?’

‘what do you read, then?’

‘comic books? what kind of question is that. more pictures than words. or the torah, but don’t tell my mother, i have a reputation to uphold.’

‘a reputation? of what, not being religious?’

‘oh no, of not being able to go up and read in front of everyone else at the synagogue.’ the both of them laughed. _it’s a nice feeling_ , webster thought. _it felt nice and adequate_. _almost if i knew him all my life_. _it sure brings some joy here_.

joseph stood up, a genuine smile on his lips. ‘i’ll be on my way then. nice chat.’

‘maybe you could come back? why not become a nurse or a doctor here?’

‘can’t get enough of me already? and only after the first date? we’ll see, _bal holem_.’

joseph turned around and left before webster could add something. the word _date_ kept echoing in his head. bizarrely enough, it almost felt like a date at the end, joking and chatting with him.

 _so he **was** a psychic_, web thought.

***

‘oh no, webster hurt himself again, someone quick call nurse liebgott!’, luz dramatically cried out. webster rolled his eyes, while sitting down to inspect the bloody bruise on his knee. the other men around him chuckled. lt. winters smiled and crouched next to him.

‘if it really does hurt you, go to the infirmary to get a bandage and get back here.’ webster nodded and stood up, trying not to limp.

as soon as he pushed the doors of the infirmary, he sat on a bed and watched the nurses stop chatting as they sneered as joseph. the man strolled towards webster and put his hand on his hips.

‘you again soldier? what’s bringing you here now?’

‘i hurt myself. maybe a magic kiss could heal it all?’

joseph chuckled. ‘where? on your injured knee or your lips?’

‘both work.’, webster responded cheekily. joe was stunned at the sudden boldness and laughed. he glanced behind his shoulder before pressing a chaste kiss on webster’s lips. his cheeks were a soft red after the public display of affection.

‘you’ll get the other kiss when i finish cleaning it.’ webster smiled happily. 

**Author's Note:**

> translations & notes: 
> 
> * olympe was a french gay magazine from the 70s. it was mostly soft pornography.  
> * schormer: it's a practise from my village's jewish community passed down on generations. it heals fevers, strains, aches. you massage the body part while saying a prayer, often involving the prophet elie.  
> * bal holem: a jewish dialect from my region. means dreamer.


End file.
